


five love languages

by pintassilgo



Category: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Anal Sex, Depression, Drug Use, Explicit Consent, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, biting kink i guess, boris is a softie, theo is a cry baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21762640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pintassilgo/pseuds/pintassilgo
Summary: Boris could speak many languages, ‘cause he thought he belonged nowhere, so he had to take a little bit of every place he lived with him. But that was not true. He had a home, right in Theo’s heartbroken chest. The only thing was… he couldn’t speak his language anymore, he couldn’t understand how to make him stop flinching under his hands, to make he smile easily, to make him feel loved. So he tried everything to fill everyone’s void.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 13
Kudos: 267





	five love languages

**Author's Note:**

> thank you @tangerina for your support <3

Everytime Boris spoke, a very charming accent escaped from the tip of his tongue without his consent. It didn’t matter what he had said in the first place, the information people always heard was  _ I’m not from here _ . He could be anywhere and still understand at least a little bit of every language one could know. He recognized the word  _ jayus _ , an unfunny joke that still makes people laugh, since silly puns often slipped from his tongue. And he knew what  _ saudades _ meant deeply in his heart: an aching longing in his chest for something — event, moment,  _ someone _ — he loved.

And here’s an unfunny joke: he should have stopped feeling this way at least 8 months ago, exactly when Theo came back to his arms. He shouldn’t miss him while he was there, he shouldn’t long for him while their toothbrushes were placed next to one another. But he did. Because feelings and moments never repeated themselves twice. He would always miss the way they laughed together until their throats hurt from the dryness of the desert, the hunger they felt for food, for love, for a sense of belonging. They could rely on each other for every single thing in their lives. Until they couldn't.

Now everytime Boris touched him — cautious, tenderly, afraid he might brush it away — Theo felt like a ghost under his fingertips. Rarely with the bubbling joy they shared in their youth. Theo still smiled, indeed, but always at the wrong jokes, never sober, always shirking from him right after. Life was never kind, they both knew that, but destiny was a thief in Theo’s life, stealing everything valuable: his mother, his dad, his childhood friend. Boris navigated in a sea of corpses, trying so desperately to reach Theo and fill him with all the love he needed. Trying to use his untranslatable words to make him understand that he was still cherished, besides of what fate did.

Boris could speak many languages, ‘cause he thought he belonged nowhere, so he had to take a little bit of every place he lived with him. But that was not true. He had a home, right in Theo’s heartbroken chest. The only thing was… he couldn’t speak his language anymore, he couldn’t understand how to make him stop flinching under his hands, to make he smile easily, to make him feel loved. So he tried everything to fill everyone’s void.

**one — receiving gifts**

He couldn’t help but notice the pile of shit in Theo’s bedroom. Books he bought even if he had already read them, necklaces, horoscope magazines he wasn’t interested in, and once, even an anime doll with the biggest boobs he had ever seen. Which convinced Boris that those things weren’t for him to keep. They were gifts Theo could never give, gathering dust in his heart, filling up the spaces the others left.

Foolishly Boris thought lightly of them, as if they were all presents, not totens. He thought that a person who likes to give gifts would also love to recieve them. So he bought a million things without thinking. He bought food he knew Theo liked, he bought books without reading the titles, he came home with new mugs and a new pair of Van Gogh socks he was sure his friend would love — and when he saw them, peeking from under Theo's well tailored trousers, hidden inside his italian shoes, Boris lips deformed in a strangely proud smile, and it felt more like a gift to himself than to anyone else.

And when they had dinner in that chinese place near their apartment, Boris rushed to say: “No need, Potter. I pay.” Searching for his card lost somewhere in those ill fitted jeans.

“I think it’s my turn, isn’t it?” Theo insisted as he opened his easy-to-find wallet, while Boris still struggled with his pockets. “Or we should split at least.”

“I invite, I pay, yes?” And his statement was much more convincing now that he had his card in his hands. Already handing it to the very uncomfortable waitress, who just typed all the numbers on the bill, crazy to get this over with. Which was also the only reason why Theo allowed him to pay. Too embarrassed to press the subject further in front of anyone else.

But when they were out in the streets, surrounded by New York’s noise pollution, he started again.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but, please, stop.” Theo let out with a sigh, making obvious that this conversation wasn’t just about the check. “All this gifts and dinners… You make me feel like I owe you something every time we see each other.” And they lived together. “I don’t know what’s up with you lately, but stop. I have money. I can buy my own fucking socks.” He was glad they were walking, and not sitting across each other where their eyes could easily meet. Otherwise Boris would have seen right through him. Theo felt exposed — even  _ girlish _ — sharing his fucking  _ feelings _ , even tho’ his voice came out harsh.

“You did not like the socks?” His accent trembled into the words, unsure of what he should say. He got it. Theo’s language wasn’t gifts, but it was not a good reason for him to be mad. “Only trying to be nice. You owe me nothing, yes? I owe you everything.” And he meant it, he had said this before, only this time there were no tears in his eyes, just a small frown on his face.

“You don’t owe me shit, okay?” Again, a big sigh escaped from his chest as he understood what was happening: it was Boris’ guilt again. He was still trying to make things even. “You don’t have to buy me anything.”  _ You don’t have to buy my love, you don’t have to buy my forgiveness. _ “I already have everything I want.” Theo said, but Boris felt like that was not true. Else, why would he still look so unhappy?

**two — acts of service**

After a taste of having his best friend back walking around his little apartment in Antwerp, laughing out of relief, watching silly movies with subtitles, bumping an elbow in his face while brushing their teeth, Boris decided that he wanted to live in that moment forever. So he bought a one-way ticket to New York and promised Theo that he was making him a favor by moving in with him. Rent was expensive in this part of the world, and Theo was a proud dumbass. So that did the trick.

Now, four months later, he still drank juice from the bottle just to get Theo complaining. They were  _ adults _ now, not dirty poor boys, and adults uses  _ cups _ . Boris insisted on the habit even when his friend got sick and threatened to lick the opening of the plastic packaging —  _ that is actually pretty hot, _ he let himself think. However, he knew Theo was bluffing, he couldn’t even lift the bottle without groaning in pain.

“Here, I do it.” Boris took the juice from his hands with the speed that only a healthy person had. Well… healthier than Theo, at least. “You? Back to bed.”

“I’m not dying, I can do it myself.” He said. Always stubborn, too proud to receive a breakfast in bed. But Theo already had his quota of humiliation for the day when he had to call in sick to Hobie. Furniture didn’t sell itself, and they had no one with his  _ skills _ to keep the business running, so they believed it was better to close the shop for the day. Getting sick was also a waste of money.

Theo actually managed to work on the days before, when he only had a headache, and his limbs were fatigated. Boris helped, of course, with his willing hands, as if his only job was to take care of Theo. He washed all the dishes, let him off to work by the door, and picked him up on the subway. He bought medicine for everything, drugs for everyone. All of that because Theo let it slip that we wasn’t feeling so well in the morning. But today he felt even worse.

“You offend me, my friend.” Said the other, already dropping everything in his hands on the counter to touch both of Theo’s shoulders and spin him towards his bedroom. “I can make good breakfast. I’ll see. Orange juice, toast, eggs, pills — yes, yes, very american.” Laughing at his own joke, Boris pushed Theo gently into the bed. He was still wearing his sleeping clothes, so the only thing that was left to do was tucking him in and take his glasses off.  _ Not Potter now, only Theo. _

Apart from those tender groans of disapproval to keep himself in character, Theo fell easily into the role of dependency, already pushing the covers further up when Boris offered them, closing his burning eyelids. “Boris?” He said in the softest voice, as if he forgot to disguise. “I think I’m sick.” His feverish cheek brushed on the pillow as he tried to get comfortable, but his muscles hurt tenderly as if someone pressed his bruises, so he kept moving out of the discomfort induced by pain.

“No shit.” Boris laughed once again, the soft feeling in his stomach made him feel ticklish, light in the head. It was good seen Theo like this. Not high, but also not sober. Just tender and vulnerable in a way only him had ever seen.

“It hurts. I’m cold.” He groaned again between his desperate movements.

Boris rested one of his hands on Theo’s chest to see if he stopped. “You’re too used to pills, but they will make you feel better soon. Just stay still.” And his hand stroked the covered skin of his arms, as Theo’s eyes began to water. “It’s okay, Potter. No need to cry.” But his muscles ached and he was still cold under his covers, so Boris crawled on the bed when he saw him shiver. Already forgetting all the dairy he left on the counter. “It’s ok, calm now.”

“ _ Calm down. _ ” Theo corrected him while accepting the shelter of Boris' arms around his waist. Now facing his chest, smelling the warmth of his body next to his, Theo allowed himself to do just as Boris said. The freezing sensation under his skin melted, and the pain was a faint feeling in his muscles now that he stopped moving restlessly. “You don’t have to do this for me.” He whispered, and his words died in the air, flowing out of the room since they carried no weight now that his hands clenched into Boris shirt. A clear  _ deja vù _ for the older versions of themselves.

“Of course I don’t have to. I want to. You do the same for me, no?” As Theo’s words were light, Boris’ laided heavy between them. “And it’s good.  _ Уют _ . Like old times.”

The faint pain came back only to squeeze his heart, so he could groan once again. Theo closed his eyes, knowing that was no way to argue, and let himself being taken care of for the rest of the day.

**three — quality time**

They were high on everything they found laying on the house, but mostly MD.

It was an end-of-the-year holiday, but they just couldn’t put a finger on which one, since their hands were occupied with greasy food and burning cigarettes. Well, none of them were  _ actually _ finger foods, they were just eating with their bare shaking hands to avoid forks and chopsticks to fall from them. The drug had built up more energy that they could burn in their little apartment, so both of them ate standing beside the counter while bouncing their feet and grinding their teeth, ruining the filter of the Camels in their mouths. 

“Did you just ate the last guioza without saying anything?” Theo hissed between his tense jaw. They could barely hear each other with the loud TV on the background, flickering light in the dark living room, but the music louder, swallowing the lines from the movie. His hands also smacked Boris’ shoulder in the process, too strong to be playful, yet too soft to be anything but. At least this was harder to be misinterpreted: Theo was mad.

“I left the quesadilla. Eat, eat.” Boris said in his defense. Eyebrows high and laughter higher. He felt the slap in his arms with joy, glad to be feeling something against his skin. Ecstasy made him horny, craving for the roughest touches. And knowing Theo probably felt the same way, made everything feel even more appealing.

“Why would I want a quesadilla made in a place that also sells chinese food?” He squeezed his eyes even with his glasses on, not sure he was seeing the world as it was because everything he saw suffered from a light glitch.

“Then why the hell ordering them?” Boris replicated the earlier slap, but this time on Theo’s stomach with the back of his hand, an excuse to touch him. However, the truth was that his clenched jaw made him want to chew Theo all over, his shaking hands were dying to squeeze him. It was an odd feeling to have no control of how he wanted to burn his drug-induced energy. He just felt like running and cracking every bone he had. He wanted to bite Theo so bad it was weird, since he never felt the urge to do that before.

“So it’s my fault your dumb ass kept yelling at me while I was on the phone?” Yeah, he just ordered everything he saw on the menu, Theo was not hungry at the time, just like Boris, he just wanted to chew on anything to stop squeezing his teeth in his clenched jaw. But now he just wanted to feel something beneath his hands, so he punched Boris back.

They knew what they were doing. They knew that the kicks, the slaps, the smacking did not configured a fight; they were only desperate, bruised and rough touches. It was just energy flowing from their fingertips into one another. They crashed against each other because they needed to, or else the drug would make them feel crazy anxious while chewing plastic cups on the floor.

When they were on the peak of their heated fight, knowing their arms would be colorful with bruises the next day, tired from the drained energy, they fell into the couch. Laughing, but their smiles never managed to touched their eyes, too filled with hunger to emanate the joy that they also felt. Breathless and with no more strength to fight, Theo squeezed Boris’ bruised arm while jerking him further into the cushions, getting a set of nails digging into his legs in response. And, under the distracting sound of a cheesy christmas movie mixed with a Mariah Carey song, a timid moan escaped from Theo’s throat.

In a delirious glimpse of consciousness, as they exchanged a knowing gaze for a second, Boris thought that they shouldn’t do it. Not like this. He was so damn afraid that Theo would never look at his face again after tonight. Theo, however, just looked at him with his own fingers crushed against his teeth, anxious and willing, in a way he used to get in their youth, ready to give Boris the wettest dream of his life, also ready to forget it all in the morning. It was the nostalgic sight that made him think:  _ fuck it _ .

So the next thing he knew, he was biting the flesh above Theo’s collarbone, leaving a trace of spit behind as he moved to the soft place where his neck met his shoulders, finally being able to give some satisfaction to his drug-induced tense jaw. It wasn’t pretty, nor as sexy as he would’ve wanted. But he needed the rough touches, the nails scratching his scalp and pulling his hair as he chewed Theo’s flesh like a maniac.

They didn’t dare to kiss, not with the knowledge that their tongues might me ripped off by some hungry teeth, yet it didn’t stop them from grinding against each other, breathless, speaking incorensive and lustiful words. Molly made people horny, but not exactly. It was like they felt so sexy, so damn good about themselves, that it was crazy to think other people didn’t see that either.

It was so ridiculous, and he even knew it while it was happening, so he just couldn’t imagine how embarrassed Theo would look at him in the morning. Unable to pretend it didn’t happen with all that proof aching on his body. Yellow, purple, a scarlet circle with the shape of Boris’ mouth everywhere. Good thing it was chilly outside, since Theo had to wear turtlenecks for three full weeks after that. Even tho’ there was no way of hiding the marks on his jaw.

**four — words of affirmation**

It was finally Christmas, and of course they spent it at Hobie’s, with Theo stealing long gazes from Pippa, which left no gazes for Boris. He would have tried to steal his attention on any other day, but, as he expected, now Theo was just acting weird. Flinching at every touch, dismissing every conversation about guiozas and threatening Boris when he tried to cuddle him on the couch.  _ It is no big deal _ , they used to cuddle all the time, but now, because of a few bites — they didn’t even kissed! —, Theo wouldn’t even look at him for more than two seconds.

Also, he could see how unhappy and anxious Theo felt about everything. It was like a self pity drinking game. He looked at his unrequited love, and he drank. He looked at her boyfriend, and then drank. He looked at his best friend and there goes another round. By the end of the night, Theo couldn’t even look at anyone, but just because it was so damn difficult to focus! He couldn’t even remember what he was upset about, he just wanted to laugh and scream to Pippa all the classical songs he knew. Even if they didn’t had lyrics.

Everyone was either drunk or sleepy by the time Boris dragged a sloppy Theo out of the dinner-party. He was already far from his cheerful self, already returning for the usual sad drunk after a while. At least he would look at him now. More than that, Theo was actually relying into him in the back of the cab, moping about Mr. Music Library, about how he loved everyone in the room with the same intensity he knew he would never find love.

Theo was upset, eyes sparkling from his drunk state, looking up at Boris, he was so small walking around into the apartment with his bended legs, sharing all his weight with the warm body who carried him. “Pippa is already leaving! Tomorrow is too early, right? It’s like… it’s like she can’t wait to get rid of me. I’m so boring, and ugly, and negative. How could anyone want me? If I could, I would get a fly away from me too.” His voice was low and his words came out mushy, in a way Boris almost missed their meanings, but he understood well enough to whisper a variations of  _ no, you’re not _ s as he walked Theo to his bed.

“Silly man. Sleep! Get better tomorrow.” He wasn’t feeling good either.

“You leaving me too?” Theo said, higher this time, as he sat on the bed making clear that he wasn’t afraid to chase Boris out of the door if he needed to. And he was actually  _ crying _ , too drunk to care, and too sad to stop. “Not just everyone… but every _ thing _ I love….” He sobbed.

Boris was already in front of him, on his knees, not saying anything but a mantra of “No, no, no.” 

“I can’t believe it left me too, I took such good care of it, and it left. But I miss it so much. I miss looking at it in the sun, in the moonlight. I miss feeling the strokes on my fingertips. I miss it so much. And I took it for granted — like everything. I thought… well.. at least this is gonna be mine forever… and it wasn’t.” He looked at his own hands standing loosely in the air, almost closed, as he was holding something. Even a fool could understand what he was clinging to in his heart.

Boris filled the gap of Theo’s hands with his own fingers. Holding him, grounding him. Oh fuck, it was his fault Theo felt that way. He took the painting away from him not just once, but twice. Another thief in Theo’s life. “You’ll see it again. Promise! They’ll put it in Amsterdam, I saw the news. They’ll put there and, chop chop, I buy tickets!” He smiled, trying to cheer him up. “And you’ll see it again. And everyone will see, and everyone will love it once again. Your painting! Life didn’t erased the time it belonged to you. So it's still yours, somewhere in this timeline.”

He kissed the knuckles on both of his hands, just before he left his sweaty palms to grip on Theo’s neck and kiss the tears away from his face. “And I am here.” He continued as he rested their foreheads together. “I am here and love you.” Cautiously, Boris kissed the corner of his mouth. Knowing that he would find no rejection from a sobby drunk Theo. “I am here, and not leaving.” Then Theo allowed himself to be kissed.

**five — physical touch**

New Years Eve wasn’t a family holiday, so Pippa stayed in Europe, while Theo stayed at his apartment, even when Boris complained about all the attractions they were missing. But there was no way in hell Theo was leaving his couch to watch a fucking ball drop in a sea of tourists. New York was already crowded, but holidays were hell on earth. It was settled: if it wasn’t to see Pippa, he was going nowhere.

So Boris went without him.

And Theo wanted to burn all his clothes and smash the TV.

In retaliation, Theo tried to sniff all the blow Boris had. Even if Cocaine was the worst high he had ever experienced. It was too expensive to give him only half an hour of an angry courage, just to abandon him with a relentless paranoia, so he had to do one more line to feel better again. But his nose always clogged and he had to sniff Vick Vaporub to be able to feel his face and numb those shameful feelings with a shitty rich-people drug. Deep down he knew those emotions shouldn’t be there. Boris invited him, with a bright smile that promised a night of adventures, and  _ he _ had said  _ no _ .

In his coke-hazed manic thoughts, he allowed himself a selfish illusion. He allowed himself to believe Boris was his to keep, his to sit on the couch with and have a boring new years eve if he wanted to. Boris was his compensation for everything he had lost, his consolation prize, another presence he took for granted. But he was also his punishment for taking another person’s life, deserting him alone on the couch to stare at the vacant space with Boris’ name on it. Theo was angry because he left, so it was impossible to avoid writing him a thousand of texts with the caps lock on, choosing the wrong emojis, telling him that he was a worthless piece of shit, that he could drown on come, he wouldn’t care.

He regretted sending the texts as soon as he saw Boris had read them, paranoid with the idea of him never coming back.  _ Well, it’s better if he never go through that door ever again, ‘cause I’ll beat the living shit outta him. _ Theo was so angry, so bursting with energy that his fingers trembled with rage, but when he heard Boris’ footsteps in the hallway, Theo was already his again.

The disturbing taste of dry paint coke had was still running through the back of his throat as he kissed Boris, letting his alcoholic breath surpass every flavor on his tongue. It took a second for the other to kiss him back, too drunk and surprised to process it instantly since it was the first time Theo initiated any physical touch. And, well, he read the angry texts, which made him expect a punch, not a hungry kiss. Not that he was complaining.

They were actually kissing regularly now. Or at least, Boris kissed him every night while Theo felt like a goddamn housewife as he did. He shouldn’t, since Boris kissed like a teenage boy every time — all teeth and hands. It’s not like they’ve never done this back in Las Vegas, but it used to be like a ritual: reserved for nighttime, when it was dark and silent, with a virgin in the middle. Only now, every time Boris hands met the soft surface of his skin, Theo flinched, afraid those touches would lead them to something more than a lousy handjob. They were  _ adults _ now, not dirty poor boys, and adults have  _ sex. _

He was afraid of intimacy, no doubt, but he was also desperate for Boris’ full attention.

It was working, since Boris smacked their open mouths together after taking Theo’s smudged glasses off, already hungry for something Theo wasn’t actually promesing. He avoided those interactions at first, turning his head, biting, laughing with disdain at Boris’ face, who knew well enough that Theo didn’t mean  _ ‘no’, _ he meant ‘ _ make me’ _ . Boris knew him by heart, knew when to start and when to stop. He was stubborn, yes, but never demanding. And, as fucked up as it sounds, Theo wished he wasn’t waiting for his explicit consent. So in the mornings he wouldn’t have himself to blame.  _ It wasn’t me, he wanted, I just went with it. I was high. I was just trying to please him. It’s not me who is broken. _ But he knew he was, so he opened his mouth to bite him.

Of course Boris moaned in response, squeezing Theo’s arms and pressing his back against the door, so he could be trapped between the wood and Boris’ burning body, glued against Theo’s breathless chest. There was no way he didn’t feel his heart slamming against his flesh, crazy for a way out. So anxious and eager, trying desperately to deconstruct the concept of right and wrong before he went crazy. Boris slid both of his hands into his ass before squeezing, pulling him closer, trying to receive some pleasure from the friction. It was different for Theo, who wasn’t wearing a hard fabric like jeans to hide his hard-on. He felt the friction on his skin like his pants didn't even existed, so there was no choice but to break the kiss and gasp an obscene sound as the other smiled smugly.

“Happy New Year!” Boris looked up at him. It was so fucking sexy to know that he was smaller, but could still beat the living shit out of him.

“Oh, shut up.” Theo responded before they licked each others swollen lips again.

Sometimes Boris tried to slow pace, placing small kisses under his jaw, licking gently the line of his earshell, but Theo’s hands were demanding, he wanted fast, vicious, and he wanted  _ now _ . So Boris bitted him in all of those places where the bruises had faded from Thanksgiving, marking his flesh like a checklist. His hands were everywhere, his lips sucking a soft patch of skin, and legs pressed between his. Theo was laying against the door, so open and inviting, panting with his eyes closed. It was obvious what he wanted, but still, as Boris’ hand reached the waistband of his sweatpants, he asked with the tenderst voice: “Yes?”

It was cruel. Of course Boris thought of it as a sweet gesture. But it was cruel. He spent years trying to admit to himself that it was ok that guys made him feel horny; spent the last month looking at his bruised neck in the mirror, telling himself that he wasn’t disgusting, it was the drugs; spent the last few days swearing he wasn’t in love with his best friend, he was just lonely. It was such a shameful process, accepting that he wanted those things, even though he never said it out loud. And now he had to admit it to Boris. 

Just the idea of saying anything made him want to wash his mouth with soap, so he kissed him passionately in response, hoping Boris would get it, but he didn’t. Both of Boris’ hands were now caressing Theo’s back as they kissed. So Theo tried again. “My back is killing me.” He laughed a little bit breathless. But that didn’t work either, since Boris’ face looked disappointed as he understood that Theo wanted to stop. But before he could’ve said anything Theo was already rolling his eyes. “Now is your cue to invite me to your bed. My God, so dumb.”

“Oh!” His eyebrows went up in surprise, his face lighted up for a second, just before he frowned in confusion. He stepped back to take a good look of Theo’s face. “I think… well, I ask… and you don’t say ‘yes’, and I’m like ‘ok is a kiss-only makeout’. And now you want my bed? So… is this you, saying yes?” He squeezed his eyes as his drunk brain tried to make sense out of Theo’s mixed signals. “Maybe just want to cuddle? Everything is fine.”

“Do I look like I want to fucking cuddle?” He looked down at the bulge against the worn out fabric of his pants. Still too angry from the downside of cocaine, too paranoid, anxious with the idea that he might abandon him again to be alone with his own destructive thoughts.

“I don’t  _ know _ , Potter. Do you? Your mind is a mystery now. Always avoiding my hands on you, and then kissing me like the air in my lungs was the only thing you could breath. I don’t know what you want these days. So I’m not putting my hand on your fucking dick, if I’m not 100% sure you want it. Is that so hard? Saying  _ yes _ ?”

“Why are you trying to humiliate me?” Theo’s flushed cheeks had a brand new meaning now. “Fuck. Yeah, I want it. I’m disgusting, I want you to think I’m hot and shove your fingers in me. Wanted you to fucking me until I cry since I was fifteen. And this is so disgusting, I hate this and I hate when you try to be nice to me.” He was trying so desperately to hide his embarrassment with a burning anger, changing the subject, laughing at his face with disgust once again. “You know what? Fuck you and your gifts. Fuck you and your pity. You don’t have to please me by picking me up at work or fucking  _ touching _ me. If you don’t want to do this, it’s fine, you don’t have to make excuses.” He didn’t mean to say any of this, but it was easy to blame Boris for his own wicked thoughts.

“Oh, you don’t get me either!” His eyes were soft as he touched Theo’s shoulders, he was smiling, even after hearing those awful words. “I know I’m bad guy — the worse! But to you? I’m good. No sarcasm, no bad intentions. I wash dishes and pretend to like Bride Wars because I know you do.” It felt strange being serious, like his words weren’t his, but he felt like he had to talk slow for Theo to understand he meant every word. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to, you know that. I do out of love. You don’t like something? I never do again. But if you do like, don’t tell me to stop. It’s awkward, yes, but I need to hear a lot of a language to understand. I  _ need _ you to say some things out loud for me to learn.”

And there was Theo, thinking Boris had him all figured out. He became so good at hiding his emotions in the past few years they were apart, that even his best friend couldn’t understand him anymore. “I… I don’t like Bride Wars...” He lied and they both laughed a little, giving some relief to their tense shoulders. “And you can do stuff… If I don’t like it, I’ll just say it.” He wouldn’t, too proud to do it and this Boris knew. “I hate fucking talking, you know that.” Yep, he did. “So just go with it. I’m not made of glass, you won’t break me.”  _ I’m already broken _ .

Theo took a deep breath to think if he should continue by saying something intimate, something that stayed on the tip of his tongue everytime Boris rushed to please him. He wasn’t happy that this conversation already felt like a couples therapy, but it was worse holding in then to let it out. “And… my grief is mine to remember everyone. And to remember what I did. Sometimes I just wanna cry and not be happy. It’s ok, Pippa said it never goes away.” His eyes didn’t meet him while his fingers picked the skin on the corner of his nails. Nervous, anxious, feeling all the downsides of drug abuse.

“Okay, it’s yours. Finally we talked! So relieved.” He smiled while bringing Theo close to him. The mood had vanished, of course, but he was far less tense than before with his arms pressing Theo against his chest in a warm hug. Boris smiled and kissed Theo’s jaw, and again on his cheek, on his temple, on his lips. And everytime he kissed, his smile faded a little bit, as the interaction became more serious to him. Again the lightness in his heart led him to the same mistake: “So… you still want to…”

Theo rolled his eyes before kissing him.

Soon after, they were in bed, panting like they have never paused to show their hearts to each other. But it felt different this time, Boris was less tense, as a result, he was more talkative, making Theo’s cheek go scarlet in embarrassment, burying himself deeper into the curve of his neck. Theo shouldn't like this, it wasn't supposed to be this way. But it was and he did. He enjoyed being manhandled by Boris, to be able to lay on his chest, limbless and moaning, as the other took care of him. He felt small, like he could fit in Boris’ pocket, being sheltered from every mean thing in the world. Theo liked the concept of having Boris touching him, but above that, he liked how it felt.

Boris pressed his slicking fingers against his ass, and Theo closed his eyes in response, while shivering in pleasure. So wrong, but so right. “Good, yes? Is it right here?” He shoved his fingers further. “Want another one, hun? You need more than two fingers if you want to take me.” It was all talk, Theo knew he had grown since puberty, but he wasn’t  _ all that _ . Yet Theo let out a moan in response, blushing again, but even more ashamed of the fact that he liked being embarrassed by him.

It was a dangerous situation to be in, all undressed on top of Boris, because he was straightforward and pushed the pants out of Theo’s legs as soon as they entered the room. While Theo only had the nerve to lift Boris shirt up to his abdomen, so he could slid his fingers on his chest. “Do it.” He whispered, but he already had a third finger touching all the right places inside of him — so ridiculously good. Boris knew he meant something else, so he was torn between teasing and giving in.

“Are you sure?” He asked instead, taking his hands off Theo to push his damp hair away from his forehead. Theo was making him sweat in early january with his scarnic frown and obscene moans.

He bit his shiny lips, stopping them from snapping a dismissive comment, only to allow Boris to win a shy  _ Yes _ that wouldn’t be vocalized ever again. But it was all the consent the other needed to roll him into the mattress while licking his neck eagerly, landing Theo’s lower back right into one of the pillows, because he had read it somewhere that this makes things easier. They had everything they needed on the other one: a bottle of lube, a condom and a sticking drool coming out of Theo’s mouth into the fabric.

“I said now.” He whined as Boris pressed his fingers into him once again, just to make sure Theo wasn’t rushing things. He made it look like he had done it a thousand times, but they were both new in all the ass-fucking departament. So, yeah, he had to make sure everything went perfect, since they would probably fuck it all up and Theo would never want to do it again.

“So bossy, Potter.” Boris smiled, taking his hands away from Theo to unbuckle his jeans, noticing for the first time how tight his pants felt. He was slicking hot into his boxers, sensitive as he slid away the fabric, feeling the january air touch his flushed skin. His hands were all Theo’s, so the only time he had for himself was when he rolled the condom on with a rushed touch. “Love dick, hun?” He teased, and this was enough for Theo groan in embarrassment, covering half of his face in the crook of his arm.

But after Boris positioned himself between Theo’s spread legs, his hands searched for his covered cheeks, exchanging the arm on his face with soft kisses on his mouth. The kisses were distracting but they were still anxious, which was a dangerous thing for Theo. “It’s ok.” Boris let out soft encouragement phrases as he pressed himself into Theo, losing track of what he was saying every time he went deeper. It was intimate and so tremendously corny the way they looked at each others eyes, the way Theo bit his lips waiting for the discomfort to go away as Boris pace began to increase.

Soon his mouth became a source of endless embarrassing sounds as they found a nice rhythm. Theo looked down to see for himself the burning flesh that united them. As if the feeling of being teared apart wasn't enough, he still had to look. And, yeah, he was really getting fucked by his best friend. He allowed it. Boris asked, and he said  _ yes _ . A breathless, shameful, filled with desire: yes. Theo couldn't believe this was happening, but it was ok, because when he looked up, the look on Boris’ face told him that he couldn't believe this was happening either. That he asked and Theo said  _ yes _ . That he was really fucking his best friend.

It was all too much. He knew Boris loved him, and he loved him back, but feeling it was too real, it was like meeting your biggest idol. It took the air out of his lungs, and suddenly, he didn’t want to be there anymore. What if he had the same look on his face? What if, when Boris looked down, all he could see was how he meant the whole world to Theo? He used the lingering air in his lungs to whisper a breathless “Do me from behind.” in his ear.

Which Boris agreed in a blink of an eye, since changing positions during sex was a normal thing to do. Thank God for not totally boring sex. Theo was happy not to be facing Boris anymore, but he didn't actually knew what he was asking for, since being on his fours was slightly more embarrassing then being fucked spread open on the bed. And it went deeper in a way he wasn’t actually expecting. There was no way he could hide his moans as Boris dug his fingers into Theo's flesh to keep him in place. The sound of skin against skin filled the room as the other kept saying _ how tight and good he was _ like a fucking moron.

They were already feeling so close since  _ oh fuck, doggystyle is awesome _ . So Theo stroked his own erection so they could come around at the same time, happy Boris couldn’t see the obscene face he made as he reached his orgasm. They collapsed together on the filthy bed, with blissful smiles and tired limbs. Boris found the way to Theo’s waist once again, but only to cuddle this time, saying he loved him.

When the bliss wore off, Boris went to pick up Theo’s underwear, since he hated to sleep naked. “Pick up the rest of the clothes on the floor too.” He demanded, even if it wasn’t his own room. “I don’t wanna sleep in this mess.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Said Boris when he crawled back onto the bed to cuddle him again. With clean sheets and dirty skin. “But you gone through my stuff? It was way less messier when I left.” He sounded curious, not intimidating.

But Theo closed his eyes, feeling shy out of sudden. He turned his gaze to the nightstand, were he had taken everything out of the drawer earlier. “Well, I was mad so I kinda found and used all your blow?”

“All of it?” His eyebrows went up, maybe in concern or surprise. He knew Theo must have been affected by something for all of this to happen, but he didn’t imagine it was with  _ his _ stash. Cocaine was fucking expensive. “You owe me like 100 bucks.”

“Do I?” Theo said with a tiny smug smile on his face, ready to look into Boris’ eyes again, filled with a power he never knew he had.

“No. You fine.”

And he was.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic ever, pls be nice :)  
> (also english is not my first language)


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